


The Paper Trail

by queenallyababwa



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Based off of The Office, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Lots of it, M/M, New Beginnings, Pining!Stanley, Romance, Slow Burn, The Office AU, alternate universe - modern AU, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-18 15:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10619715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenallyababwa/pseuds/queenallyababwa
Summary: The Villeneuve branch of a mid-size paper company is filled with a cast of eccentric people just trying to make it. But when the branch gets three transfers from the Barbot branch, things start to shake up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first intro to the fandom was this AU and I felt like it was finally time I write it down.  
> Some of the plot points and details are based off of posts from @stanfouofficeau on tumblr (which you all should check out btw)

LeFou didn’t really like to listen to office gossip, but that all changed when the whispers and rumors going around were about him. For years, he had done everything to lay low in the company, give no one reason to talk. He was a moderately successful salesman - an absolutely killer team with his partner, Gaston - but he tried so hard to keep that to be what he was known for. He never talked too much about his personal life, his desk was void of much personal memorabilia.

So when he was walking past the water cooler with a fresh mug of coffee (he had been on the phone with a client so long that his beverage went cold and undrinkable) and he heard the assembled crowd mention his name. Clearly, they didn’t seem to notice him pass by, but it left him frozen. 

Quickly, he ducked into the nearest cubicle - Gaston’s - to catch the rest of this conversation. 

Sitting at his desk, scrolling through Facebook, Gaston quickly closed his tabs and whipped his head over his shoulder, sighing when he realized that it’s just LeFou.

“Hey there, buddy,” he said, spinning his chair around the face LeFou. When he saw the look of panic on his friend’s face, he asked, “What do you need?”

LeFou crossed the cubicle and murmured, “They’re talking about us.”

“Ah, probably about that amazing sale with Marie’s?” Gaston said with a laugh. Selling to a local banquet place had fulfilled their quota for the month in one quick swoop. After they left work that day, they celebrated with a few beers at the Pour House. 

“I don’t think it’s good,” said LeFou, shaking his head.

Gaston raised an eyebrow, leaning forward in his rolley chair. LeFou slunk against the cubicle wall, trying to catch as much as a conversation as he could.

There was a laugh - the familiar voices of some of their coworkers - and the words, “Good luck to them.” 

And then LeFou watched as the group dispersed, leaving him with his mug of coffee and an on-edge Gaston. He looked back to his friend and repeated the words he just heard.

“Good luck to us?”

“Good luck to us?” Gaston leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin, trying to figure out what that meant.

***  
At 1:50, Gaston, LeFou, and Belle got called into their manager’s office. Sitting behind his desk, he expressed his gratitude for them being some of the finest salesmen (and marketing managers, in Belle’s case) this branch had seen in years.

But. He’s going to need them to transfer. The Villeneuve branch was struggling and needed some skillful workers to go in and help breathe some new life into the place.

At: 2:10, LeFou was back at his desk, looking for apartments for rent in Villeneuve.

***  
Four ties, three shirts, and two pairs of pants laid on LeFou’s bed. Freshly showered - he was just starting to master the hot and cold temperatures on the faucets - hair dried and standing in his boxers, he tried to figure out what to wear for his first day. 

Villeneuve is four hours away from his hometown. Brand new people to impress, but at the same time he wants to maintain his near invisible status he held at the Barbot office. Sure, he was recognized as a good salesman, but Gaston got a lot of the glory. He tried so hard to maintain that he was a quiet guy, that he didn’t cause drama, that he came in and did work and that was all. Drama had followed him in middle and high school, but since college, he was just trying to lay low. 

So the question was - the charcoal pants, deep blue tie, and black shirt or the white shirt, khaki pants, and the red tie? 

On the nightstand, LeFou’s phone buzzed. He pulled away from his thoughts as he reached down to check his phone. A message from Gaston: Ready 4 2day?

LeFou smiled. At least on a first day, he still had the constant of carpooling with Gaston. He still had his own car, but the two of them sharing a ride was more out of friendship than necessity. He clicked on the message and replied: Ready as you can get.

Not twenty seconds after LeFou set the phone down and went back to his all-important decision, his phone shuddered with Gaston’s response. He glanced over his shoulder and read the reply: G2 pic u up in 10.

LeFou clicked the phone to sleep, but then thought about what kind of impression pulling up Gaston’s bright red convertible - or showing up with Gaston himself - would leave on the new people. Sure, he started working at the company a year after Gaston started, and everyone knew that there was absolutely nothing between them. But the people in Villeneuve? They might jump to conclusions, like the people way back when. 

At the same time, he didn’t want to let Gaston down and reject his offer of a ride. They’d been friends for five years and Gaston was willing to go out of his way to pick him up on the office. It saved gas - and with the rent in his new place being higher than Barbot, anyway that could save pennies was appreciated.

Conclusions are just going to be a risk he was going to have to take.

Deciding that his second outfit will make him resemble the character Dilbert too much, he went with switching the black shirt (too formal) with the white one, he put on the dark red tie and the charcoal pants. 

Padding out to the kitchen, he put on a bagel in the toaster and poured himself a glass of orange juice. He looked around the apartment, at the beige walls, and the great wall of boxes, and the unplugged stereo. He had just moved in on Saturday and he spent Sunday running errands. With a full week of work ahead of him, he wondered when the hell he was going to have time to unpack everything. Years of being single had never lead him to throw out much of everything; it had been an exhaustive effort just to pack everything up. A sense of dread filled him as he actually thought of the work of getting everything out.

Even still, as he waited for his bagel to toast, he began to dream about what he could do with this space. Where he could move the couch and what he could hang on the wall (landlord approved). 

He dreamed, for a moment, of better things in Villeneuve. 

His phone buzzing woke him from his thoughts. Gaston was ringing, letting him know he was on his way.

Early bird gets the worm. 

Quickly, he downed the rest of the orange juice, grabbed his bagel, spread some jam on it, grabbed his lunch from the fridge and his briefcase, and headed down the flight of stairs.

In the entryway to his apartment building, LeFou used the minute before Gaston showed up to straighten himself up. Half of the jammed bagel in his mouth, he opened to door and fell into the leather seat in a swoop. Setting his stuff on the ground, he looked to Gaston. and gave him the thumbs up.

“Good morning to you,” Gaston said with a smile as he pulled out of the parking lot.

LeFou, seat belted and finally settled, took the bagel out of his mouth. “Sorry, I got a bit of a late start and wasn't expecting you to be here already.” He reached over to the side compartment, where Gaston usually kept a few napkins. “Are we planning on stopping for coffee today?”

“Not today, LeFou,” Gaston answered brightly, leaning forward as he looked both directions to enter on the intersection. “Got to get there early to impress, right?”

“Yeah,” LeFou answered, and he knew what Gaston meant. 

Impress Belle. 

Belle started a year ago. That entire time, Gaston had been obsessed with the marketing consultant, flirting with her relentlessly whenever she was around. He had asked her on dates, bought her flowers on Valentine’s Day. In that time, thanks god, Belle had never filed sexual harassment against Gaston, but LeFou was waiting for the day it went there. 

Of course. A new office. A new set of women that may equally or better than Belle to flirt with. 

The ride to the new office wasn't very long, and in no time they were pulling into the office park - three grey and blue buildings that towered over each other. Gaston found a parking spot marked for employees. Just as he turned off the car, he turned to LeFou and said, “Let's get in there and kick ass.”

LeFou tried to say, “I don't think ass kicking is necessary on the first day?” He unbuckled his seatbelt and looked over his shoulder. Belle was just exiting her jeep and Gaston was practically sprinting to catch her. LeFou sighed. “Maybe? Never mind.” 

He grabbed his stuff and exited the car, trying to catch up with the group, which was more or less Belle fast-walking to the door and Gaston strutting behind her. 

“Morning, Belle!” He greeted, trying to ease this awkward tension.

She didn't really turn to acknowledge him but she bid him good morning as well. She was the first to reach the door and ducked inside. 

Their first sight of any life in the office was a girl with a head full of tightly wound curls, popping bubble gum as she was arranging blue as pink sticky notes around on the enormous calendar that seemed to take up almost her entire desk space. She looked up to the three strangers before her and smiled brightly. “Oh, you must be the transfers!” 

The receptionist was attractive and so Gaston went right at it. “Right you are, Miss -” 

“Plumette Rue,” she supplied, grabbing the phone off of its cradle. She dialed a number as she assured them, “We are so glad you're here.” 

It was a few moments of her waiting for someone to pick up on the other line, where she told someone named “Lumiere” that they were waiting in the lobby, but their conversation quickly went less than professional when Plumette broke into a series of giggles and a hushed “Lumiere, stop it” before she giggled again and hung up. 

Upon looking to Belle, LeFou, and Gaston in front of her, Plumette sat up straighter, cleared her throat, and told them smoothly, “They'll be with you in just a minute.” She stood up for her desk and motioned to a grey loveseat on the other side of the room. “You can sit there, if you'd like.” 

Not sure when Lumiere and others would show up, they sat down. Gaston sank heavily into the cushions, shifting his body to allow little space for LeFou and Belle to sit. 

Belle looked to LeFou and told him, “You can take the seat. I'm fine standing.” 

“Are you sure, those heels looks like they must be a pain to wear,” Gaston commented, taking note of the sensible black heels Belle was wearing with her grey pants and blue blouse.

“It's 8:30, Gaston, my feet don't hurt yet,” she insisted.

LeFou knew that Gaston was going to say something to really try and convince Belle to sit next to him, but three people appeared in the doorway: one older man with a well-groomed mustache, another younger man who seemed like he glowed (most likely the effect of a good cup of coffee), and one woman who seemed warm and friendly.

“Hello, hello,” the younger man greeted, jolting LeFou at how energetic this man was; even he wasn't this peppy with his usually normal cup of joe. “Welcome to the Villeneuve branch.” He went down the line and shook hands with each other them, as vigorous as a politician's. “Well, we decided with three of you, to split you up amongst the three of us in HR. Just to help you get settled, give you a tour.” He clapped his hands together. “ I believe I am with Ms. Thomas?” 

Belle walked over to the man and he instantly began chatting with her. The older man -introduced as Cogsworth - called out for Gaston Firmin. And that left the woman, who turned to LeFou and said, “I believe that leaves you and me, dearie.”

Mrs. Beatrice Potts, as she introduced herself, was everything that LeFou believed an HR representative should be - or at least, the very idealized version of an HR rep. He placed her somewhere in her early forties and she had a very warm smile that she displayed often, which in turn displayed her prominent laugh lines. Years of smiling like she did the first five minutes of meeting LeFou would do that to a face. She also lit up like a Christmas tree when LeFou complimented the little golden flower pin on the lapel of her gray blazer.

“Thank you,” she gushed while her computer booted up so she could log him into the system. “Mr. Potts gave it to me for my birthday last month.”

LeFou ‘mmm'ed and looked around at the surrounding area. Along the wall of the desk were countless photos of a little brunette child. The boy at the petting zoo with a little goat, the boy wearing an overly large sunhat at the beach, the boy as a baby curled up next to the man LeFou assumed was Mr. Potts. 

“Is that your son?” LeFou asked, motioning to the photos. 

“Yes, that's my Chip,” she beamed with pride as she said this. “He just started first grade two weeks ago.” Her computer hummed it started up. “He loves it of course, but it's been rough on me.” She cupped face in her hand, looking at the baby photo, eyes glazed over with fond memories. “They don't stay small forever.” She looked back to LeFou. “Do you have any kids?”

Trying hard not to laugh, LeFou shook his head and told her, “No, I'm pretty on my own. It made moving her a little easier.”

“How's the move treating you?”

“I'm still trying to figure out where everything is in this town, but other than that, it's been okay. But Villeneuve isn't that much bigger than Barbot, so I'll manage.” 

“It's a cute little town, very quaint,” she said as she typed in her password to the computer. “Once you know how to get around, you'll love it.”

From there, their conversation was more about the business rather than anything personal. Although, somehow, Mrs Potts made taking a refresher course on company policy a little easier with a cup of tea. (She had a little hot plate and kettle behind her desk, all prepared) As they both finished a cup of Earl Grey, however, her tone grew a little more somber. 

“I don't see you having any issue fitting right into our office space,” she began, trying to avoid something. “But I must warn you about the manager here. He can be a little . . .” she paused, searching for her words, “difficult to get along with sometimes. He means well, but he's just very set in his ways.”

LeFou nodded, now appreciating the “good luck” comment to its full extent. 

“It's just a warning,” Mrs. Potts assured him. “You'll be fine.” And with that, she stood up and motioned for him to follow her.

Through the twist and turns of the labyrinth of office space, she showed him the employee lounge and the copy room and other such important places - until she lead him to his cubicle - a space that showed its lack of use with the thin layer of dust collecting around the little lamp.

Gently, she blew on the lamp and switched it on. “So, Garderobe will be around soon to help you get started here. She's head of sales and I'm sure you'll get along just swimmingly.” 

LeFou looked around at the behemoth computer in the corner and the coffee stains on the desk, the leftover magnet advertising sunny Celebration, Florida clinging to the filing cabinet. He turned around to face Mrs Potts, and smiled. She told him to stop by anytime if he needed anything. He nodded and watched her disappear back into the deep recesses of the the office. 

***

Lucille Garderobe loved to talk. About her husband, Cadenza, who had left his accounting position here after fifteen years to follow his dream of being a harpsichordist. (He was on the road a lot, apparently. ) About how she was actually a classically trained opera singer and liked to do a lot things with the theatre in Villeneuve. About her dog Frou Frou (who was a boy dog) who was still getting trained and wasn't very good at restraining himself from tearing up the furniture. About how she ran an Etsy store selling women’s clothing. 

By the time he got started at learning the stats of the accounts he was picking up, he had basically heard her entire life story.

( But she seemed nice enough.)

At least, compared to some of the other employees, who would pass by the cubicle and gawk at the new employee as they passed; it made LeFou feel like an animal in a zoo. 

LeFou worked until around eleven, when he decided he needed a pick-me-up. For a moment, he contemplated just taking some food out of his lunchbox rather than brave the trek to lounge. But he had yet to have his customary morning coffee and he could use a moment to walk around a little bit and stretch his legs. 

He grabbed his phone and ventured outside of the grey fabric walls. By the time he found the employee lounge, he had made five wrong turns. Which, actually, surprised him. Upon entering, he was surprised to find Gaston sitting there, scrolling through his phone as he drank a mug of coffee.

“Hey, Gaston,” LeFou greeted as he walked in. 

His coworker looked up and nodded.”LeFou.”

“How was your morning so far?” LeFou asked as went up to the counter, staring at the enormous variety of mugs that were assembled by the sink. For a moment, he wondered which mug belonged to who. From all he knew right now, he guessed the tea-infused one belonged to Mrs Potts. He tried to guess which one was Garderobe’s. 

“Boring,” Gaston answered sighing as he feel against the chair. “Cogsworth is so by the book. It was like getting a lecture. We reviewed the fire exits and how to file complaints.” He grabbed his mug - “Real Men Like Opera” with a burly man signing - and took a sip. LeFou smirked. There was Garderobe’s. “You?”

“Ah, well I liked Mrs Potts enough,” LeFou said, looking at the K-cups on display on the rack; he skimmed through them to find what was the most appealing. Donut Shoppe was always good. Hazelnut usually didn't disappoint either. “She gave me a cup of tea, we talked.”

“Cogsworth stuck to a script, for the most part,” Gaston sighed. 

LeFou reached for the Hazelnut cup and set it into the Keruig. 

“Although -” Gaston snorted as he thought about something. “He did say something that was pretty -” He drawled off for a moment as he said, “Speaking of pretty.” 

And at that moment, who should walk into the room but Belle, with a book tucked under her arm? Upon seeing Gaston, she visibly flinched , but shook it off, strolling straight to the faucet next to LeFou, reaching for a yellow mug with red roses over it. 

Once again, LeFou tried to diffuse the tension. “So you got Lumiere, huh?” He asked Belle as he waited for the machine to heat up. As she poured hot water into the mug from the sink, he clarified, “For the tour? We were just talking about that.”

“Oh,” Belle acknowledged, brightening up the tiniest bit. “He was wonderful. Really thorough with everything and really welcoming.” Belle busied her hands with finding a teabag in the box, deciding on lavender. She dunked it into her mug and walked over to the table behind where Gaston was sitting, and, to be sure she had all her walls up, cracked open her book: a copy of Romeo and Juliet that was dog-eared to oblivion. 

Realizing that at this point of the day, getting Belle’s attention as futile, Gaston began to talk about the apartment he had just moved into, flaunting about all the decorating plans he had in store. LeFou listened as he sipped his coffee and picked at a piece of croissant that was left out in a pink box on the cabinet with a sticky note that had a smiley face and a “Take One!!”

Gaston was just talking about where he was going to do with the ten point buck deer head ( and LeFou was honestly baffled he has brought it along after moving so short notice) in his living room, when another man stepped in.

Dressed in a blue shirt and a pin-striped tie, his long, dusty blonde hair pulled up in the unfortunate “man bun”, his appearance wasn't quite the intimidating force he was when he stormed inside. No one said a word about him as he went to the sink and reached for a mug instinctively, but he grabbed nothing but air. He mumbled something under his breath and whipped around, muttering something with the hint of “mug.”

He scanned the room, finally saying something aloud with a, “Where’s my mug?”

“Mug?” LeFou repeated quietly and looks down at the plain grey one he had selected. “I-is this one yours?” He offered, holding it up.

But LeFou was completely ignored when the man looked over and saw Belle’s yellow rose-printed mug. “Hey!” He practically yelled to Belle, who was looking up from the pages of Romeo and Juliet. 

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” the man snarled. “You like taking things that don't belong to you?”

“Oh,” Belle set her book aside for a moment and held up the offending mug. “If it's yours, I'm sorry I borrowed it. I'll wash it when I'm done and I'll bring in my own for now on. It won't happen again.”

“It was never yours to touch to begin with!”

“It's a mug. It can be cleaned,” Belle reasoned sharply. “I told you, it won't happen again.” 

The man gave a humph and looked over Gaston and sneered ups seeing what she was reading. “Good god, the mug stealer doesn't even have decent tastes in Shakespeare,” he guffawed and stormed away, slamming the door behind him.

The residual sound of wood knocking against metal turned to stunned silence at what had happened. Belle had her mouth agape, trying to process what had just happened, before that amazement turned into anger. She stood up and grabbed the mug, tossing the rest of her tea into the sink and running water to lead it down the drain.

“Mrs Potts warned me about the manager,” LeFou began slowly. “I think that might be him.” 

“Well, if he's the manager, then I'm going to send in my resignation,” Belle huffed, dumping dish soap into the mug. “I left my father back in Barbot for better pay, but if I'm going to be treated like garbage, then I'm leaving.”

“Aw, Belle, give it some time,” Gaston tried to reason. “He may not be such a bad guy.”

Belle ignored the man’s advice as she dumped the water that had collected in the rose mug out and down the drain. She went over and grabbed her book, before she slammed the door shut too.

LeFou and Gaston both decided to go back to their cubicles, agreeing to meet in an hour or two for lunch at the lounge. As LeFou sat at his desk, organizing files that had been sent to him, he began to wonder about the confrontation over coffee. Already one day, and Belle was already on the verge of quitting. 

Maybe his dreams of better things was just ludicrous.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first week at the new branch sparks some new friendships for LeFou and Gaston.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! It's been almost two weeks since I've updated but I think it's going to be a little more than that for the next one - finals week is nearly upon me. I am having a lot of fun writing this AU and I actually finally know where it's going lol so that should definitely motivate me to get this done, right? *prays that it does*

In some regard, starting a new job was just like the first day of every school year. Lunch was a competitive time in any cafeteria; people were like vultures and make quick work with what miniscule offerings there were of good places to sit. And, of course, being new, it looked like Gaston, LeFou, and Belle were going to have to take the undesirable spots.

 

Just as he was grabbing his lunchbox to take to the employee lounge, he saw Lumiere from HR lead Belle down the corridor. He managed to catch her before they disappeared. 

 

“Where you headed to?” He asked, curious to see if they were going to confront the manager for the whole mug debacle. However, Belle’s face would have been a little more firm if this was the case; she was as argumentative as she was beautiful. 

 

“Lunch,” she answered. “Lumiere offered to take me out somewhere.”

 

“You could come if you would like, too,” Lumiere offered. 

 

“Ah, no, I think I’m good,” LeFou said, shrugging. If he went, where would Gaston be? “I’m trying to save some cash.”

 

“Suit yourself,” Lumiere told him, and the two bid him goodbye and went off into the elevator while LeFou went in the opposite direction.

 

The employee lounge was not necessarily abuzz with lunchtime life, but there were certainly more people than LeFou had seen from the three hours in his cubicle. Cogsworth and Mrs Potts sat at one table with the receptionist Plumette. They were very engrossed in their conversation and did not glance up as LeFou passed them. Three men - two older and one who looked like he was just out of college - sat at the other. Gaston sat alone but did not seemed particularly phased with his loneliness as he scrolled through his phone and ate his steak salad. 

 

LeFou sat his lunchbox down and plopped himself into the seat across from his friend. “Hey,” he greeted, trying to get the other man’s attention. 

 

“Hello, LeFou.” Gaston clicked off his phone and set it down. “Where’s Belle?”

 

“She went out with Lumiere,” his voice dipped to a whisper, “Probably as an apology for what happened.”

 

Gaston picked at his salad, shoving a tomato aside for a strip of steak, and did not pick up LeFou’s subtlety. “Well, I can’t believe somebody would go ape like that over a coffee mug.”

 

“Coffee mug?” Someone had heard what Gaston had said and turned around. It was one of the men at the other table - the sturdiest of the bunch with a beard and longish hair. 

 

One of the other men - decidedly thinner than the other and wearing a mustard colored shirt and brown tie - turned around asked, “You heard about the coffee mug incident?”

 

“Heard about it! I was there!” Gaston boasted as if there was something to be proud of in regards to witnessing someone freak out. 

 

Through the gap in his teeth, the mustard-colored shirt man took a deep breath and said, “Yikes.” He turned around completely and his two friends followed. “So I take it you meet ‘the Beast’?”

 

A quick look of skepticism was passed between Gaston and LeFou before the man explained, “That’s what we call Adam Louis. Because if you think he’s bad now, wait until something hits the fan here.”

 

“Thanks for the warning,” LeFou said as he unpacked his turkey sandwich and apple slices, making a mental note to avoid any and all confrontation with the manager. It wasn’t like he was planning anything different - it all came with the “lay low” policy. 

 

“I’m Dick,” the man in the mustard shirt told them as he reached over to extend his hand to the two new men.

 

“Gaston and this is LeFou,” the other man motioned to him while Dick was shaking his hand. Something didn’t sit quite right with LeFou when Gaston said this - how hard was it to introduce him as  _ Étienne  _ instead of his (unfortunate) surname?

 

The largest man of this trio reaches for Gaston’s hand and gives him an almost equally firm handshake that it took LeFou by surprise when it was his turn. “Tom.”

 

“So you must be Harry?” Gaston asked the college-aged kid still eating his wrap. 

 

Never had LeFou seen someone resist an eye-roll so hard; he nearly choked trying to keep back his laugh. 

 

“Stanley” was apparently the young man’s name, contrary to how funny it would have been with the similarities to the common idiom. 

 

But despite this brief moment of awkwardness, the rest of lunch went much better than LeFou could have  anticipated. Tom, Dick, and Stanley were very welcoming and asked the new guys to move tables and sit with them. From there, the trio tried to give them as much information about the office - everything from the mug policy in the breakroom to the extravagant Christmas party every December. Additionally, gossip spreads pretty fast, so it’s best to be careful about anything.

 

(Great.)

 

Not much happened after lunch - the same monotony for the most part as he had left in Barbot. At 5pm, he shut down the old computer and grabbed his briefcase, texting Gaston that he was done for the day. He waited for him in the reception area, where Plumette was giggling at something on her phone again. They made brief conversation before Gaston appeared, ready to drive LeFou home.

 

When he got up the stairs to his apartment, LeFou was instantly exhausted by the the sight of the moving boxes and he needed to lay down at the thought of unpacking. He ended up napping until seven, when he decided to order Chinese food. In the glow of television, he had his small dinner of chicken lo mein and an egg roll. Somehow, this gave him the energy to take some of pictures out of their box and put them on the entertainment center’s shelf - arranging the pictures of him and his grandmother at his graduation and of the cast of Barbot Playhouse’s  _ 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee _ around his small collection of books and potted cacti until he decided it was time to go to bed.

 

***

 

The days of LeFou’s first week at Villeneuve went in a very similar fashion - although LeFou was not witness to anymore Adam “the Beast” freakouts. (He did actually meet with him once to discuss the needs of the sales department, but his temperament was much more subdued than that first initial meeting.) He was however, witness to a variety of equally odd events.

 

On Tuesday, he was bombarded by a paper plane that nearly hit his head. Curiously, he opened it and read,  _ Care for some coffee _ ? With a winking face, the note seemed flirty and since he had little contact with many people in the office, he doubted that this message was intended for him. 

 

Shaking his head, he tossed the crumpled up paper into his waste paper basket and went on with making a phone call with one of his new clients to introduce himself.

 

“Hello, this is Étienne LeFou from Trousdale-Cordon Paper Company,” he began. “Is a Saison Marguerite there? Uh huh. Well, I was just calling to let her know that I am taking over for Lucille Garderobe in regards of your -”

 

Another paper airplane landed in his office, landing a little more gracefully this time on the floor. 

 

“What the -?” He murmured to himself, but the woman on the phone heard. “Oh, nothing. Anyway, as I was saying, I’m your new representative -”

 

When LeFou hung up, he opened up the note.  _ It’s break time! Meet me outside in five minutes. _

 

LeFou looked over his shoulder, trying to figure out the projection of the paper plane. He stood up and tried to peer over the fabric wall, wondering how far away the paper airplane must have travelled. But he saw no one else.

 

Sighing, he sat back down in his chair and not a second later, Gaston appeared. 

 

“Knock, knock,” he proclaimed his entrance, leaninging up against the cubicle side. “Caffeine sound good about now?”

 

With an arched eyebrow, LeFou held up the crumpled paper. “This was you?”

 

“Yeah, I was trying to get your attention,” Gaston told him. 

 

“You could have texted?”

 

“What’s the fun in that, LeFou?”

 

LeFou clicked his tongue; he didn’t really have an answer for Gaston. He stood up and grabbed his coffee mug - one shaped like R2-D2 - to take to the break room with him and join his fellow employees and not cause an Adam-fueled fire. 

 

On Wednesday, at 10:00, Tom came by his cubicle holding a birthday card. 

 

“It’s Stanley Bernard’s birthday,” he explained, offering the card and a ballpoint pen for him to sign. When it passed hands, LeFou saw that it was a three cavemen gathered around a birthday cake with the phrase “Me call this fire cake.” 

 

LeFou set the card on his desk and signed a quick  _ Stanley - Have a good one! - LeFou _ before handing it back to Tom.

 

“So there’s going to be a little party thing in the employee lounge around 2 o’clock,” Tom told him, shuffling the pen and card in his hand. “And there’s going to be chocolate cake, so you know it’s going to be great.”

 

“Actually, I’m more of a pie person,” LeFou said, leaning back in his chair.

 

Tom stared at LeFou. LeFou stared back, trying to figure out this look the other man was giving him. Was it a look of distrust? Betrayal?  _ Pity _ ?

 

“OKAY THANKS LEFOU,” was all the other man managed as he dashed away from LeFou’s cubicle.

 

(LeFou ended up eating a small middle square of the chocolate cake at the party, but Tom still looked at him weird from the corner, disdainful as he shook his head and took a long drink from his red solo cup of soda.) 

 

On Thursday, LeFou heard yapping in the office when he walked in, two cubicles down. Garderobe’s cubicle.  He set his briefcase down and decided to investigate. He found a child’s gate strapped across the front of Garderobe’s cubicle. 

 

The woman was sitting at her desk, shuffling through papers, like it was normal. However, a small Yorkshire Terrier was chasing a small yellow ball around, pushing it with his paws, desperately trying to nimble at the plastic toy. On closer examination, LeFou saw that the dog was wearing a blue sweater and a . . . diaper?

 

“Is this Frou-Frou?” LeFou asked.

 

“Aw, yes it is!” Garderobe practically sang as she reached forward and pulled the puppy off the floor, hand cupping his plastic-covered bottom as she crossed the floor and brought him over to LeFou. “Our puppy sitter wasn’t feeling well and so I brought him to work to stay with Mommy!”

 

All of this was cooed directly at Frou Frou rather than said to LeFou. 

 

She continued in the same sickeningly sweet tone, “But we are just going to have the best day today, aren’t we sweetheart?” She made kissing sounds and held him close, beaming with pride.

 

LeFou didn’t quite know how to react, giving a small smile. 

 

“Would you like to pet him?” Garderobe asked, stepping forward and nearly thrusting the small dog towards the man.

 

“Ah - oh! Sure!” LeFou reached forward and rubbed the Yorkie behind the ears and was rewarded with five violent licks on the wrist by Frou-Frou himself. “He’s a cutie.”

 

“He’s the love of my life,” Garderobe gushed.

 

LeFou retracted his hand and straightened up. “I can get those reports to you by lunch,” he told her.

 

“No rush,” Garderobe sang, eyes never leaving her dog. “No rush at all. Isn’t that right, Frou-Frou?”

 

LeFou took a breath. “Right.” And then excused himself to leave. 

 

On Friday, LeFou could feel that the general attitude of his coworkers was exhaustion and anticipation for the weekend. He himself was wearing down around three-thirty, his first week steam dying down early. He still had a lot of work to do and knew that there was no way he could possibly sneak out early. 

 

On top of that, about two o’clock , the sounds of George Michael and Wham! wafted through the entire office over the loudspeakers. While LeFou waited in line behind Dick to retrieve a bag of chips from the vending machine, he groaned as the opening of “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” began after “Everything She Wants.”

 

“Is it always like this on Fridays?” LeFou grumbed.

 

“Not always,” Dick assured him as he fished his candy bar out from the dispensary. “Sometimes he plays Celine Dion.”

 

LeFou groaned again, pulling out his wallet and digging around for the right amount. 

 

“We should have warned you about Adam’s Spotify Playlist,” Dick sighed, unwrapping the candy bar right then and there.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” LeFou told him, putting his coins into the slot before punching A-12.

 

No he was  _ definitely  _ not feeling anymore George Michael; it wasn’t motivating him to get any of his work done and it wasn’t what he needed to end his week. He stared at the pile of papers before him and clicked his pen to “The Edge of Heaven.” His phone buzzed in the corner - just a Facebook notification - and he got an idea.

 

Grabbing the papers, the pen, his still unopened bag of chips, his phone, and his pencil holder (removed of all writing utensils), LeFou stepped out of his cubicle and walked down the hall to the conference room. Shutting the heavy oak door behind him and flicking on the lights, he relished the pop-less space, which was the only sanctuary from the sound speakers.

 

Already feeling more focused and motivated, LeFou set his papers down and took a seat at the long conference table. He opened his phone and pulled up his music, clicking on _ The Book of Mormon _ Original Cast Recording. A door bell rang and the voice of Elder Price began, “ _ Hello. My name is Elder Price. And I would like to share with you this most amazing book! _ ”

 

LeFou tucked his phone into the pencil cup and at once the sound was amplified. With newfound determination, as the Elders sang of the book that will change lives, LeFou started on his paperwork. He found himself getting through it a lot easier than he did an hour ago - maybe it was just the change of scenery, maybe it was the music, maybe it was the snack, he didn’t quite know.

 

In fact, he was in such a groove, that it took a knock at the door during “Man Up” to bring him back from his work. He snapped out of his lull and turned his head to the door. At the window, he could see Stanley Bernard peering through, giving him a questioning look. LeFou motioned for him to come in.

 

The door opened and Stanley craned his neck inside. Once he heard Elder Cunningham’s self-motivating,  “ _ I'm taking the reins, I'm crossing the bear. Just like Jesus, I'm growing a pair! _ ”, his face broke into a wide grin as he resisted a laugh. “ _ Book of Mormon _ ?”

 

“I know, it’s not exactly office-appropriate,” LeFou admitted, holding up his hands. “But I was just so sick of George Michael.”

 

Stanley crosses the threshold and shuts the door behind him. “Try working here for almost two years. Then you tell me how tired of George Michael you are. Christmas here? Just an endless loop of ‘Last Christmas’.”

 

LeFou laughed. “I can only imagine.”

 

Stanley motioned to the phone sitting in the pencil cup. “So, is  _ Book of Mormon  _ your favorite show?”

 

“Ah, one of them yeah,” LeFou admitted. “I mean, I was just in  _ Putnam County _ this past July so that’s kind of been my go-to for awhile.” He unclicked his pen and set it down and then looked up to the other man. “You’re into theatre?”

 

“I did a little bit back in college and high school, but I haven’t done much since,” Stanley said, shrugging. “I was mostly ensemble - characters in the background that nobody really cared about, you know? Well, actually I was Feuilly in my school’s production of  _ Les Miserables _ .”

 

Not wanting to let Stan know that he was not entirely sure who Feuilly was, he offered, “At least you had a name!”

 

“That’s true,” Stanley said, leaning back up against the door. “Ah, LeFou - do you mind if I join you? I have some payroll stuff to finish and -”

 

“Say no more, come and enjoy some musical theatre.” LeFou spread his hands, motioning all around the conference room.

 

“Great.” Stanley smiled again, grabbing the door handle and letting himself out just before he said, “I’ll be right back!”

 

Stanley returned in three minutes with a folder, his pen, a calculator, and his phone and took the seat across from LeFou. During the time the other man disappeared, LeFou went through his camera roll in his phone to find an embarrassing picture to make them equal.

 

“So, since we were talking about characters nobody cared about,” LeFou began as Stanley arranged his paper on the table. “In the third grade, I was an Oompa Loompa in some community theatre’s  _ Willy Wonka _ and my grandmother took too many photos but I keep this on my phone to keep myself humble.”

 

Taking a breath, he slid the phone across the table to Stanley, the photo of a photo lower in quality but still showing his awkward, chubby nine-year-old self in a green wig and white overalls.

 

Stanley burst out into laughter, muttering, “Oh my god” as he shook his head. “You were a cute Oompa Loompa,” he told him as he handed back the phone. 

 

“Thanks?” LeFou wasn’t quite sure what the appropriate response was for this. “I mean, that was probably one of the last pictures of an adorable child me because after that I got braces and nobody wants to me when I was fourteen as Motel in  _ Fiddler on the Roof  _ because that was peak awkward.”

 

And so, they both began to talk about their experiences on the community theatre stage, laughing at each anecdote of horrific costumes and lyric ad-libs and disastrous tech week rehearsals. Eventually, their conversation moved more towards a sing-along when “I Believe” began it’s opening chords.

 

_ “ _ _ I believe that God has a plan for all of us! I believe that plan involves me getting my own planet! _

_ And I believe that the current President of the Church, Thomas Monson, speaks directly to God! I am Mormon! And, dang it, a Mormon just believes!” _

 

Their singing and working, however, was halted just as Elder Price stormed into General Butt-Fucking-Naked’s camp to tell him that he could become a Mormon too when Tom looked into the room. He opened the door just as the General exasperated, “ _ The fuck is this? _ ”

 

Of course, Stanley and LeFou burst into laughter as Tom said, “My sentiments exactly.”

 

LeFou reached inside the cup, took out his phone, and turned the volume down as he answered Tom, “We were sick of Adam’s playlist. We’re claiming sanctuary”

 

“I don’t mind George Michael all that much,” Tom confessed. “It’s better than the Celine Dion days at least. And it’s like, 4:00 so we only have an hour left.”

 

“An hour too long, Tom,” Stanley pointed out. “It’s a Friday and Antoine and I are going out. This is a much better ending to the week that the hits of Wham!. Plus, we  _ are _ getting our work done so it’s win-win.”

 

“We’re taking requests,” LeFou offered. “It doesn’t just have to be just musical theatre.”

 

Tom looked back behind him and then looked at the two conspiratorially. “I’ll be right back.”

 

So Tom joined them with some music from  _ Queen _ . But, feeling quite lonely at the accounting department without his two other co-workers, Dick came with Tom, curious to see what this party in the break-room was all about. Slowly, as the last hour of LeFou’s first week at  Trousdale-Cordon, Villeneuve wore on, more and more people came in and brought their paperwork and tunes - Gaston, three dark-haired triplets from different departments whose names all ended with “-ette”, and coworkers that LeFou never knew worked here.  But it wasn’t until Lumiere showed up with his party playlist that the work had stopped - although by then it was already 4:50 and they were all just about done and ready for quitting time.

 

But of course, over all the electronic sounds of the music, someone said, “The hell is going on here?”

 

Adam stood at the door frame again. 

 

Everyone could sense the tension, a ticking bomb, and no one quite knew which wire to cute to defuse it. No one, of course, except for suave, people-person Lumiere who had initiated the craziest part of this little gathering. He stood up and reached for his phone, turning it down to a what LeFou remembered his middle school teacher call a “dull roar” and braved the walk across to the manager. 

 

“Ah, Adam! We were just having a little Friday pick-me-up!” Lumiere’s grin was infectious and charismatic as he put his hand on Adam’s shoulder. “No harm in that, is there? And we are all finished, isn’t that right?” 

 

Stanley was the first to dare move, pushing himself out from the table. He held up his folder “I have the payroll for next week all finished.”

 

“I finished the client satisfaction reports,” LeFou chimed in.

 

“So did I!” One of the girls - Paulette? - added.

 

“You see? Peek proficiency here!” Lumière said with pride. “Everything that needs done for the weekend is finished at the right time.”

 

Adam still looked huffy at finding his employees gathering and listening to something that was not in his chosen music taste. He folded his arms and crossed his chest and LeFou could tell he was trying to find something to say, something to lash out at them with, but he faltered and admitted defeat. 

 

“So? Are we finished here?” Lumiere asked Adam.

 

“I guess,” the man sighed and then turned his attention to his employees. “Have a nice weekend, then.”

 

And at once, the group rose out of their chairs, grabbing everything they had brought to the conference room, and all but bolted out the door. “See you Mondays”s and “Have a good weekend”s were exchanged in the frantic dash for the door. 

 

Once they were out of the conference room, just as LeFou and Gaston were heading out towards their cubicles, Tom called out, “Hey, Gaston, LeFou. Care to join us for a beer?”

 

LeFou turned around and saw that Tom, Dick and Stanley were standing together, like the perfect trio. Like the Musketeers. Or the Heathers - though nowhere near as mean or perfectly color coordinated. 

 

“A beer?” Gaston repeated.

 

“Yeah, the three of us usually go out to a bar after payroll Fridays and we always have room for two more,” Dick explained. 

 

“That sounds like a great time,” Gaston said and looked down to LeFou, who nodded in agreement. 

 

“Great. We’ll see you in five in the lobby.”

 

LeFou grabbed his suit jacket, his briefcase, and his lunchbox before he shut off his computer and his lap, truly signalling the end of his first week. When he made his way to the lobby, Tom, Dick, and Gaston were there, discussing on the best route to the bar. But there was no Stanley. (Apparently, he got a call and it was very important that he answer it.) 

 

Lumiere sauntered into the lobby with briefcase, made a quick motion to the four men waiting on their friend, before he slipped behind the receptionist desk, took out a sticky note, wrote something on it, and stuck it on the stapler. When he saw that LeFou had seen the whole thing, he only grinned, nodded, and raised an eyebrow although LeFou wasn’t quite sure what it was all about. However, he was clued in when Plumette appeared and Lumiere stood up and looked like he had just seen a goddess. 

 

“ _ Plumette, my darling _ ,” he breathed and gathered her in his arms, going straight in for a passionate kiss. The girl giggled but pressed back with equal intensity. 

 

“It’s like this every day,” Tom panned flatly to LeFou. “Get used to it.”

 

Stanley appeared, looking very annoyed. “Antoine has to work late tonight.  _ Again _ ,” he announced bitterly. “So I really need a drink right now.” 

 

And with that, he, Tom, and Dick headed out and LeFou and Gaston followed. As the group shuffled down the stairwell, LeFou reflected on the past few hours, of his shared connection with Stanley, of how he started something cool (much more than he had ever done in high school and college), of how the Trio had just  _ accepted _ him.

 

Maybe this wasn’t going to be so awful after all. 


End file.
